Regrets and Resolutions
by cosmic.catastrophe
Summary: "...here he was, on his fourth martini, feeling just uninhibited enough to maybe track down the yet-to-arrive Jane, see if he could take an Uber to her safe house before midnight, or wherever she might be, on the wild chance he could bring in the new year with another heart-stopping kiss." -#BSHiatusFics; "New Year's Eve" theme.


Prompt: New Year's Eve; Tumblr Blindspot Community #BSHiatusFic challenge.

Thank you, _countryole_ , _takethisnight-wrapitaroundme_ , and _charmingnotdarling_ for this glorious idea…I have been admiring your writing from afar, working up the courage to finally post something! This seemed like a perfect opportunity.

Regrets and Resolutions

Zapata had wheedled and harassed Kurt into finally giving in, seeing through all his weakening excuses (to his great chagrin). He now glowered at her from a high top near the open bar, martini in hand, adjusting his tux. The black-tie New Year's Eve bash orchestrated by some crony of Mayfair's was at MoMA, blissfully far enough from the madness in Times Square, and she'd extended the invite to her team, ostensibly as a reward for their hard work.

Zapata and Patterson were only too happy for an excuse to slink around the exhibits in shimmering gowns, hair in updos, teasing Reade for his grudging reluctance in finally introducing his girlfriend to the team. After the past few weeks, all Kurt wanted to do was hole up in his empty apartment with a glass of single malt. His sister and nephew had moved out after finding a house on Long Island, and the dark quiet would have suited and indulged his simmering emotions.

He was not in the mood to be social tonight, nor had he been since that night a few weeks ago. The night Jane had been taken, found the next morning at a presumably-CIA black site, after an anonymous tip was sent to the team. Found surrounded by Carter and other presumably-CIA goons, their bodies riddled with bullets.

Jane hadn't seen the face of her mysterious rescuer…or so she'd initially claimed. Kurt had nearly drowned in guilt. Why hadn't he thought to walk her home? Why hadn't he called her detail to accompany her? The truth was, his brain wasn't quite functioning that night, after Jane had kissed him senseless.

The guilt had turned into betrayal after Jane had finally confessed the truth to him: She'd recognized her rescuer…and he _just happened_ to be the aforementioned ex-fiancé from her previous life. Not only did this " _Oscar"_ save her from further torture, but he'd had a shocking message for Jane, which shook Kurt to the core.

He'd felt like a storm-tossed ship on a sea of thrashing emotions, internally warring with the smoldering desire for her, sparked into flame from that incredible kiss, and the new knowledge that she'd somehow planned this, arranged it all, down to the tattoos. Down to her deliverance to him, and his name on her back.

He'd pulled away from her, the careful walls he'd built over the years since Taylor Shaw's disappearance thrust back up like shifting ground in an earthquake. His manner became cool and professional, clinically detached.

Tasha could barely take about a week of this before she confronted him in the locker room after their latest mission, spurred by yet another one of the damned tattoos. She'd poked an accusing finger into his chest, fired up with frustration.

"Kurt Weller, I am telling you this as a friend. GET OVER IT. You are wallowing, you are moping, and it is PATHETIC. It's affecting your work! It's affecting the TEAM!" she'd exclaimed, poking him with emphasis at the end of each sentence. They both knew exactly what she was referring to, of course…they'd all been walking on eggshells around it since the truth had come out. "Yes! She initially didn't tell us the whole truth! But Jesus, Kurt, that was a LOT to take in! AND, whatever she may have done in the past…THAT'S NOT HER ANYMORE!"

Zapata had paused, breathing heavily, awaiting his response, hands now on her hips. "I don't want to talk about it, Tash," he'd growled, slamming his locker shut with more force than necessary. He'd turned away, and stalked out of the locker room.

"You're being an emotional coward!" she called after him, and was rewarded with a withering look back over his shoulder as he made his way to the elevators. She had responded with a smug smile. Good. Let him chew on that.

Zapata had forgiven Jane quickly, seeing the pain and confusion in her eyes as she'd finally relayed the whole story to the team. Jane had been afraid that the team would turn on her or view her with suspicion, but it only cemented the resolve of Mayfair, Reade, Patterson and Zapata to get to the bottom of it, and find out what on earth could have possibly propelled Jane to make those choices, to do that to herself.

The team had arranged to monitor any future contact of Jane with Oscar, and redoubled their efforts regarding her tattoos, and finding out anything regarding her previous life. Kurt had participated halfheartedly, listlessly, weighed down by his conflicting emotions, which was plain as day for the team to see.

Patterson had approached Kurt next, cornering him in his office late one evening on her way home. Of course he'd been there late, as was his habit recently, his eyes bloodshot and tired. It was clear to her that he'd been sleeping terribly, no doubt obsessing over Jane. Patterson's heart ached for them both. Hadn't they been through enough?

She figured that, whatever had driven Jane to choose to give up her whole life, leave herself at the mercy of strangers, entire body covered in ink, it had to be both devastating, and terribly important. She reasoned that, in her previous life, Jane had been recklessly brave in choosing to trust the team, and allow them to help her unravel the threads of government corruption.

"Hey Kurt," Patterson greeted him softly, leaning on the doorframe. "You're here pretty late." He'd rubbed his tired eyes and managed a weak smile.

"Likewise," he responded gruffly. "Heading home?"

"You need to forgive her," Patterson blurted abruptly, clutching the strap of her cross-body bag. The rest of the words poured out in a rush. "She gave up her entire life and body to come to us, to _you_ , for help. That is the bravest and craziest thing I've ever heard of…and she's done nothing but good with us ever since, discovering all the corruption through her tattoos. We don't know what she was involved in before, or how she came to know what she does, but that's not _her_ anymore. Her past shouldn't matter. She deserves this new start. She deserves your trust. Don't you see that, as scared as she was of your possible reaction, she STILL told us the truth about what happened to her?"

Elbows on the desk, Kurt's forehead is cradled in his hands as he blows out his breath. "Patterson, I don't want—"

"I know. You don't want to talk about it with me. But you should talk about it with _her_ ,' Patterson insists, and tears fill her eyes as she adds, "Life is too short to waste by keeping people at arm's distance. Especially when it's someone you love." At this she blinks furiously, whirls around, and hurries toward the elevators.

Kurt had leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh. Patterson and Zapata were right, of course. Even Mayfair and Reade were sick of his wallowing, rolling their eyes at his terse, clipped tone during recent missions. He'd taken Jane's confession so personally, even after previously reassuring her, soon after they'd met, that her past didn't matter. Whoever she had been in her previous life, it was obvious, now, what kind of person she truly was. Selfless. Altruistic. Fiercely loyal. Fearless. And she'd bewitched him completely, occupying both his waking thoughts and dreams.

It was about time, he finally decided, that this was resolved, even if she hated him now for his mistrustful turnabout in behavior. However, as he set about determinedly to right his wrongs, Jane was frustratingly elusive. She never seemed to be at her safe house these days, now ensconced in the burgeoning friendship between her, Tasha, and Patterson. She'd disappear after mission debriefings, no longer lingering in the hallway or locker room to catch his eye for a conversation. And yet she remained utterly professional during missions, her vigor seemingly renewed after the torture, revelation, and rescue from the black site. Christmas came and went, Jane not lacking for invitations; she'd eaten her weight in holiday supper served by Zapata's doting extended family.

Mayfair's invite to the team for the New Year had then come up, and Kurt hadn't wanted to go, feeling hopeless. Even if Jane went, too, surely she wouldn't speak to him. At this point, it felt like too much to hope for. However, Zapata had talked him into it, with Patterson and Reade's help. And here he was, on his fourth martini, feeling just uninhibited enough to maybe track down the yet-to-arrive Jane, see if he could take an Uber to her safe house before midnight, or wherever she might be, on the wild chance he could bring in the new year with another heart-stopping kiss.

He scanned the room again, hoping against hope, and then suddenly she was there, sharpening and crystallizing in his field of vision. He felt his heart involuntarily slam against his ribcage with his sharp intake of breath, and his mouth go dry with desire. Her dress was dark green, plunging, sparkling, showing off her alabaster skin and the swirling colors of ink. She floated toward him like a candlelit dream, eyes never leaving his.

Jane held two flutes of champagne, setting them down on the high top before moving within arm's reach. Her malachite eyes glowed, brought out by the glittering dress. He was incapable of speech, mesmerized, helpless before her.

"I have a New Year's resolution for you,' she announced, a smile playing around her lips, breaking the silence.

"Is that right?" he responds, voice soft, his body acting of its own accord as he moved closer, drawn to her like a thirst-crazed man to water. Maybe it was the martinis, or the insistent throb of the background music lulling him, or the electricity of her mere presence, charging the air between them, but he doesn't resist when she tentatively reaches out to him, splaying her delicate fingers on his chest.

"You should resolve to forgive more, and take more chances," she challenges him. "Emotionally," she clarifies, and he feels a tightening in his chest. As usual, she is disarmingly honest and to-the-point, and it cuts him to the bone. The selfish anger and betrayal he'd been feeling at her earlier lies-by-omission have vanished completely. He desperately regrets having wasted even a moment of time that he could've spent in her presence.

"That's more like two resolutions,' he teases, voice a low rumble, slowly slipping his arm around her waist, his other hand reverently tracing the shape of her face. The roar of the crowd around them, chanting as they count down to midnight is dim in his ears, his focus entirely on her.

She graces him with a devious smile in response. "As for me, I resolve to never again let you forget who I am _now_."

"And how will you do that?" he asks without thinking; she's done it already, with her hold on his heart and soul. She slides her hands up his chest, tracing lines of shuddering heat, looping them around his neck, drawing him closer.

"Do you forgive me?" she whispers. He doesn't deserve her. She hasn't given up on him yet, and is big enough to forgive his mistrust, forgive _him_.

"Yes," he breathes, and crushes her to him in a searing kiss. His heart crashes against his ribs, and there is a rushing sound in his ears, or maybe it's the crowd cheering the new year. She kisses him back fiercely, melting into him. Her kiss is absolution, cleansing his sins with sweet fire, and he can finally start the year anew.

A/N: I wrote this in a frenzied burst on Monday afternoon, when I really should have been working. Please forgive any and all incongruent verb tenses. :D

Jane's Gown Inspiration: _Julianne Moore's green 2015 SAG Awards gown_

Location: _Inspired by a company holiday party I attended at a fancy museum in Washington DC_

Story: _Part of a larger, post-S01E10 arc I am working on, slowly plodding along_

Music: _"Clearest Blue," CHVRCHES (Please send help; I automatically thought blue = Kurt's eyes...); "Science of Hate," Visions of Trees (It's just sexy)._


End file.
